Foreshadowing the Past

Chapter 19

Lying is the most simple form of self-defence. -Susan Sontag

Connor was very tired as he sat at the kitchen table across from his parents, who were both wearing identical expressions of anxiety. His mother had made them all tea, but Connor was too tired to drink it, and still a bit confused as to what had just happened.

"You don't remember anything?" his father pressed.

Connor shook his head 'no' and rubbed his eyes. "I was dreaming. I didn't even know I wasn't in bed until you woke me up in the hallway and scared the life out of me."

"I was just coming up to check on you and Zack before turning in, and you came walking out of your room. I thought maybe you were just going to the toilet, but you turned the wrong way and started walking toward me. I got to the top step and thought that you wanted to talk to me, but you just stood there for a moment and then told me to get out of the way," his dad explained. "I asked where you were going, and you didn't answer, and I realized you were asleep. I put my hand on your shoulder to steer you back to bed, but you woke up right then."

"Do you feel okay, sweetheart?" his Mum asked worriedly.

"I feel fine," Connor answered truthfully. "Just tired. Was I really sleepwalking?"

His mother nodded. "You haven't done that since you were about seven, though."

"Can you remember what you were dreaming about?" his Dad asked.

"I was trying to sneak out of the Common Room after hours," he grinned sheepishly. He didn't feel that they needed to know the details of the dream, and left it at that, hoping they would draw their own conclusions.

"Why would you want to sneak out after curfew?" his Mum asked with a frown.

"I don't know Mum," Connor said, though he had a good idea where he and his friends had been headed. "Dad woke me up before I could find out. Probably to nick some food from the kitchens."

"All right, son. Go back to bed, and we'll talk more in the morning," his dad said quietly with a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Hadn't he done the same on many occasions when he had been in school?

Connor nodded and climbed the stairs again, but when he got to his room he grabbed a quill and some parchment and wrote down everything he could remember about the dream, so that he wouldn't forget it sometime during the night the way that sometimes happened with dreams. He had a feeling that what he had dreamed of was very important in all of this somehow.

*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*

Connor woke to the sound of Adam's laughter in the hallway outside his bedroom. A quick glance at the clock told him that it was already past eight o'clock, and the sound of Zack's gentle and even breathing told him that his friend was not disturbed in the least by the noise his family made in the mornings. He lay quiet for a while, listening to the clinking of dishes just barely audible from the kitchen below where his mother or Dobby was at work making breakfast, and the strange static like sounds that came from the walkie talkies that Zack had given the twins yesterday. At last he reckoned that he should get up and dressed for the meeting with his father, before his Mum or Dad came looking for him. It was probably best to let Zack sleep as long as he could so that he wouldn't be left to entertain himself for too long while he was down in the basement workshop with his Dad.

Yawning widely, he shuffled off to shower and then dressed and had a quick breakfast. He watched Adam and the twins dashing about in search of cloaks and gloves and scarves while his Mum tutted exasperatedly as she tried to round them all up to take them all to the market and to keep them out of the way for a while, before descending into what his Mum like to call 'the cave' in search of his Dad. The basement was actually nothing like a cave, and Connor enjoyed spending time in here most days if he was allowed.

"Hey sleepyhead!"

His Dad had undoubtedly been up for hours, and was at a workbench, using a steam box to shape the handle of a custom broom into the shape he wanted. There was a thin film of perspiration on his brow that he wiped on the sleeve of his robes, knocking his glasses slightly askew, and he turned his attention back to what he was doing.

"Hey Dad," Connor answered, coming over to watch the process. The wood was being infused with a bluish magical steam that made the wood pliable and infused it with properties that made it pretty much unbreakable. He had spent countless hours in this workshop over the years, watching as his father patiently crafted some of the finest brooms in the world for some of the most famous flyers.

"How did you sleep after your little nighttime walk?" His dad turned over an hourglass to time the steaming process, and turned back to the nearest countertop, where he was in the process of choosing the twigs that would make up the tail of the broom.

Connor knew that once each individual twig was selected, they would be carefully charmed; each individual one would be treated carefully and precisely to prevent snapping, splintering or loosening. Custom-made Dog Star brooms may cost the earth, but it could never be said that the money was wasted on an inferior product. "I slept okay. I don't think I had any more dreams. None that I can remember, anyway."

"Good," Harry said casually, measuring twigs that he had already sorted through once, making sure that they were the right size and shape for placement. "I had a little talk with Remus. He says he had breakfast with you last week and that you told him that you'd dreamed about the Ministry of Magic again." His eyes stayed on his work, and he was careful not to sound too accusatory. "Hand me those red handled clippers, would you?"

Connor handed over the clippers and answered carefully. "Yeah. I dreamed about a witch this time."

"Thanks," Harry said, taking the clippers and snipping a millimeter from the base of a twig. "Why didn't you owl me or your Mum to let us know about it?"

Connor shrugged and answered, "Professor Lupin seemed to think that it was Andrew Tillman's grandmother; he said that she was working there the same night that you were there. I just assumed that it was you projecting your memories of her to me, like Madam MacTaggart said, and I didn't want you to feel bad about it."

Harry looked up at his son, who was not quite meeting his eyes, but was instead focusing on the bridge of his glasses. He got the distinct impression that he wasn't getting the whole truth from his son, but his 'Dad senses' didn't detect any real traces of dishonesty or guilt, either. He found himself tested in his promise to himself that he would never use Legilimency on anyone he loved without their permission, but mastered the urge and said, "I don't think so. While Samantha Tillman was there that night, I never saw her. In fact, I was barely even aware of her until months after the fact."

"Well then why would I be dreaming about her?" Connor asked innocently. He didn't know why he felt the need to keep some of the details from his father, but Connor simply didn't feel that it would be good for him to tell him everything he had dreamed and what he thought about Madam MacTaggart's opinion on the matter. He felt sure that if his parents felt that he was experiencing a change in his abilities, he would be treated to many more meetings with MacTaggart or any other number of 'specialists' on the subject. "Do you think that maybe I'm picking up Andrew's thoughts as well?"

"I don't know, Con," Harry said, considering the possibility. "I suppose it's possible, but since Andrew wouldn't have any first-hand memories of that night, it doesn't seem to fit."

Connor picked up a handful of twigs from a basket on the table in front of him and automatically began to sort through them for the best shaped ones. He knew that even though his father appeared to be concentrating on wrapping already prepared twigs together with a strong, supple wire, he was immersed in his own thoughts. A few moments later, his Dad sighed and said, "I know you don't want to hear this, Connor, but I think that it's time to contact Madam MacTaggart again... and maybe even Dumbledore."

"Dad!" Connor groaned, dragging the one-syllable word out for three. If his father was considering bringing in his previous headmaster, and one of the oldest wizards in the world to consult with, his parents were a lot more worried than he'd thought.

"I'm sorry, Son," Harry replied seriously. "But we need to get to the bottom of this. If you're suddenly picking up on other people's thoughts or memories, we need to know about it. If you're not, well, we need to know that, too."

"Dad," Connor pleaded, knowing he was fighting a losing battle. "It's no big deal. I'm being really careful."

"I'm sorry," Harry repeated firmly. "This isn't up for debate. There are a lot of ugly things out there that I don't want you exposed to if I can prevent it. All it would take is for one careless word or action, and the whole world could know that Harry Potter's oldest son can read other people's thoughts and predict the short-term future. The very worst that our world has to offer would be coming out of the woodwork to get to you. There may not be a Dark Lord hovering over our heads anymore, but there are still plenty of dark wizards; it's my job to keep you safe from them, no matter what."

Connor sighed heavily, knowing that there was no arguing with that. "I just don't want everyone to look at me like I'm some kind of freak. I don't want to feel like a freak. What's going to happen if MacTaggart and Dumbledore and who knows who else starts coming around all the time?"

"We're going to try our best to keep that from happening," Harry answered, putting a comforting had on his son's shoulder. "It's the last thing we want, too."

Connor nodded glumly, more determined than ever to keep the full extent of what he dreamed from his parents; it would only give them more fodder for their search for what was 'wrong' with him. He thought of the Dream Journal that he'd gotten for Christmas, and decided to begin using it, to put everything from his dreams into some sort of order to find out if it made anymore sense that way. What if his parents were right? What if he was suddenly reading other people's minds? What would that mean in the long term? His dreams had been kind of jumbled and seemed out of order, jumping from what seemed to be past and future; was it possible that it was both? As much as he hated to admit it, he was beginning to feel nervous about everything that had been going on in his dream.

"Connor." His father's voice pulled him out of his thoughts. "I need you to promise me that you're going to try extra hard to avoid exposing your abilities to anyone else, and that you'll tell someone if you have anymore dreams."

"Okay Dad," Connor said, grateful that his father had used the word 'someone' instead of 'me' or 'us'. "I promise."

"Good," Harry said, and changed the subject with a smile. "Now why don't you make yourself useful and apply a second coat of that anti-jinx varnish to that handle over there?"

Connor grinned at the opportunity to work with his father for a while, and went to retrieve the broom handle from a rack on the wall.

*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*

Zack woke up to find that the weak winter light coming through the open window was a bit brighter than it had been yesterday, and he wondered idly if more snow had fallen during the night. There wasn't much noise coming from the rest of the house, but Connor's snoring was suspiciously absent, so Zack rolled over and peered over the side of his bed to find that Connor's bed was empty. He jumped down and retrieved his watch from the dresser and noted that it was already nearly eleven! He couldn't remember the last time he'd ever slept that late, and wondered why no one had woken him.

He dressed quickly and went in search of Connor or any of the other Potters, but all he found in the kitchen was the house elf Dobby, who was dressed in a very horrible collection of mismatched clothing, and wearing a frilly apron as he took a loaf of bread out of the oven.

"Good morning, young master!" Dobby greeted him cheerfully. "Mistress Ginny says that you will be hungry when you come down, so I have been keeping a plate warm for you."

"Thank you," Zack said, sitting at the table while the elf levitated a plate piled high with food over in front of him. "Do you happen to know where everyone is?"

"Mistress Ginny has taken Young Lucy, Ian and Adam to the market, and Young Mister Potter is down in the basement with Harry Potter. Young Connor should be coming back up in short while; he had been down there since breakfast was over." The elf then cheerfully left Zack to his meal, and excused himself to see to the laundry.

Zack had just put his plate in the sink (which was busily washing it's own dishes) and was wondering what he would do with the rest of the morning when the door to the basement workshop opened, and Connor and his dad emerged, both laughing. Connor was carrying his broomstick.

"Hey Zack!" Connor grinned. "Have you been up long?"

"No, actually. I just barely got up a half an hour ago; I guess I was really tired!" Zack answered.

"Well what do you want to do today? Dad says that we can take your new broom out for a while until Mum and the others get home." Connor said hopefully. He would ride his broom every day if he were allowed, but wasn't often permitted to do so without some sort of supervision, especially since the younger kids refused to be excluded.

"Sounds great," he said. "I'll go and get my broom!"

He ran up the stairs to retrieve the Daytripper, eager to ride it again, and paused to look proudly at Godric, who was asleep on his perch. By the time he made it back downstairs, he could see that Connor had gotten their cloaks, hats and gloves ready, but was kneeling in front of the fire. As he got to the family room, he could see Quentin's head in the flames.

"...I just need to get out of here for a while," he was saying to Connor.

"Come on over!" Connor said. "Bring your broom - me and Zack were just about to head outside for a bit."

"Give me two minutes!" Quentin said with relief, and withdrew his head.

"Look's like Quint's going to join us," Connor said unnecessarily as he stood up. "Vanessa's driving him nuts, so his dad is letting him escape for a while."

They put on their cloaks and got ready to go outside when the flames in the hearth rose and turned bright green, and an instant later, Quentin was stumbling out, clutching the handle of his broom.

"Thank Merlin!" he said as he straightened up. "One more minute with Vanessa, and one of us was going to end up in St. Mungo's!"

The boys spent a good hour in the air, enjoying their freedom from siblings and general responsibility before Mrs. Potter, who had just returned home and had lunch ready for them, called them down. After lunch, they locked themselves in Connor's room and talked about their Christmases and what they planned to do with the rest of their holiday. Connor showed Quinten the letters they had found and told him about the most recent dream.

"That's not the only thing you have to worry about," Quentin said after he heard Connor's account of what his father had said. "Vanessa's out for you as well. She says that she's going to make it her mission to make sure everyone knows what a freak you are." His voice was laced with disgust as he said the last part.

"What can she really do?" Connor asked, not feeling overly worried. "If she tells anyone, she'll be in so much trouble that she'd be lucky to be allowed to stay in school."

"If I know my sister, she can do plenty. Just watch yourself around her, okay?" Connor agreed, and was sorry to see his friend go two hours later.

That night, while Zack was writing a lengthy letter to his parents, Connor retrieved a quill, ink, and the Dream Journal that his uncle had given him. He wrote down as much as he could remember about each of the dreams he had had that seemed to relate to the Department of Mysteries. He even drew a crude sketch of the revolving room and the rooms leading off of it. He was helped by the fact that he had dreamed about many of these things more than once, and so his memory of them was fairly accurate. He hoped that once he had it all down on paper, he would be able to spot a pattern or a clue as to what his dreams were really about.

The rest of the holiday seemed to pass in a bit of a blur. Rachel came over often to spend time with them, and Quentin came once more as well. Ivy sent an owl saying that she had some news to share, but that she wouldn't be able to see them until they met on the Hogwarts Express to go back to school. They spent their days flying or playing in the snow, and even one memorable day 'helping out' at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. Zack had gotten to visit Rachel's home a few times and found it to be very similar to the Potter household, with lots of noise, broomsticks in various stages of completion and a general feeling of organized chaos.

Finally it was the night before they were to leave to return to school, and Connor's Mum was preparing a large dinner, as if she wasn't fully aware of how well her son was fed while away from home. They ate until they felt as if they would burst, and then everyone went up to bed, thinking about what the following day would bring.

"I'm looking forward to going back to school," Zack said with a little surprise in his voice as they lay in bed that night. "This has been the best holiday ever, but I'm ready to get back to learning magic. I miss using my wand."

"I know what you mean," Connor answered sleepily. "I do too."